We bought this place in east London last year. The study isn’t finished yet, so I do most of my writing on the dining room table. It mostly always looks like this – unless our two cats have been on the table and knocked the books on to the floor, which is something they do from time to time. I know they enjoy doing this when I am out of the room. It doesn’t bother me that much, because cats will be cats. I didn’t write The Canal in this room; we moved here after I had finished it. I wrote The Canal in various cafés and pubs in Hackney, east London and I’m afraid I didn’t take photos of them.
I write longhand and then edit as I type it up on to my laptop. My laptop is quite old now and sometimes gets very tired, but it still does the job, so I can’t really complain. READ MORE >
August 13th, 2010 / 11:44 am
God, Bukowski. Did that guy really ever have to exist? I think it was funny and ‘connective’ as a 17 year old seeing books with titles like ‘sometimes you get so alone it just makes sense’ or whatever permutation of that title was on that book cover. But like Nirvana to rock music, an ‘innovator’ who makes a whole previously quieter genre big bucks famous, Bukowski is probably more responsible for boring, retarded writing than, well, anybody maybe, except for Thoreau?
Nah, it’s Bukowski.
Case in Point: this dude on 3:am. 3AM is confusing in that they seem split between interesting, weird writing (mostly culled by Ellen and Tao) and the UK grime / ‘Brutalist’ garbage, which is often like the ULA junior.
I think about the time I was offered coke at college and replied that I wasn’t thirsty. When a taxi-driver asked if I liked ‘bud’ and I thought he meant Budweiser.
I think I wrote something a joke like this when I was 17, before I’d tried beer.
This set of ‘poems’ newly published on 3AM, I’m really not sure who thought this would be interesting, maybe they know their market or something, but ruminations on reality TV, cokeheads, and bad parents, well, hrm, those are all things that are hard to talk about well probably, and especially not in the manner of Dr. B.
Add that the 3:AM dude looks like Billy Corgan on meth, and yip. But that’s below the belt.
One day they will publish a selected works of Bukowski that will be worth buying, as 1 in 18 of his poems will sometimes knock you on your ass, but otherwise, well bub, thanks a lot.